


Upward Over the Mountains

by bouncingclowns



Category: Ratched (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Eventual Smut, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Fluff and Angst, I’ll update tags as I post hehe, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slow Burn, just ... just keep reading, no really everyone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28082244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bouncingclowns/pseuds/bouncingclowns
Summary: A mysterious freshman comes to Bennington College, carrying with her the weight of her past and the promise of her future.Gwendolyn Briggs and Mildred Ratched, but make it COLLEGE
Relationships: Gwendolyn Briggs/Mildred Ratched
Comments: 42
Kudos: 102





	1. Chapter 1

_ September, 1929 _

Mildred Ratched stroked her thumb absently against the corner of her suitcase. She recited and re-recited the list of its contents in her head.

_ Underwear: check. _

_ Toothbrush: check. _

_ Socks: check. _

_ Hairbrush: … _

Mildred stuttered, thumb stilling against the cool metal of the latch. A hairbrush, how could she have forgotten a hairbrush? Her cheeks warmed.  _ Stupid, stupid, stupid _ .

She turned her gaze out the window once more, watched the trees roll across mountains and stretch for miles on either side of her. It was enough to swallow her whole. From her vantage on the highway, Mildred wondered if this was what it was like to be sailing; the ocean splayed and smooth below a hull of oak or cedar, the scent of salt and wind. Only here, the air smelled of sweet dirt and rot, and there was no wood beneath her feet: only the faded carpet of her taxi. Still, the trees persisted like the uneven sightline of waves crashing. Only, here, there were shades of pale yellow and vibrant orange and deep clay, not greens and greys as she imagined water might look.

“Should be just off this next exit, Miss.” The cab driver - a gruff looking man with a thick mustache and beat up cap - grunted, and Mildred felt the car veer towards the right.

Mildred squeaked out a meager “thank you”, her voice barely coming as a whisper against the dryness of her throat. She checked her watch; they had been driving for well over two hours now, much to the begrudge of her driver, who had been none-so-pleased picking her up from the GreyHound bus stop. Mildred’s chest tightened when she thought of the way his gnarled features pulled into a frown, how he had muttered as he helped her load the cardboard box which contained the rest of her belongings into the back of his trunk, and rolled her eyes when she asked if she could perhaps keep the items up with her. She rolled her neck. It would be good to get out of the car, she decided.

She was right, of course.

Once stopped, the campus of Bennington College was all greens and yellows and browns. A large brick building stretched beyond a field already bustling with incoming students. A lake nestled between dormitories, and somewhere in the distance, Mildred could see smoke from a chimney. She inhaled the electricity crackling off of those who she would soon call her classmates. She paid the taxi driver, and thanked him. He, in turn, dropped the box with her belongings onto the sidewalk before speeding away.

Now what?

Mildred couldn’t be sure. Signs were planted firmly into the grass around her - some directed towards registration for freshmen, some held the names of dormitories, some merely boasted  _ welcome! _ In cheery gold letters. Mildred followed the first of them, finding herself in front of a table lined with young women checking names off of lists and pointing in different directions.

After waiting her turn, Mildred found herself greeted by a pink-cheeked girl with curls and spectacles hanging against her nose. She asked for Mildred’s name, which Mildred gave.

“Ratched, Mildred.”

The girl glanced up at her, her pale eyes taking stock of Mildred almost hungrily. Her gaze landed on the cardboard box clutched in Mildred’s arms.

“Oh honey, is that all you’ve brought with you?”

Mildred’s cheeks warmed, and she suddenly wanted very badly to be anywhere but here. Still, she nodded, and asked weakly for her dorm assignment.

“You’ll be in the Barnes Houses. Gosh, you’re lucky! Those are some of the biggest rooms.” The girl gushed, then added after a moment: “not that you’ll need all that space.”

Mildred clung to her box like a life raft. She thanked the girl, and spun on her heels. Somewhere behind her, she heard the girl shout “welcome to Bennington!”, but she didn’t turn to acknowledge it.

Mildred couldn’t believe her eyes when she finally swung the door open to her room. It wasn’t just spacious, it was … god, it was  _ huge _ ; bigger than any space Mildred had ever called her own before. Two beds tucked into opposite corners of the room, each against a window which let in bright Vermont sky. Mildred noted that one of the beds was already half set up - a set of pale blue sheets and pillows strewn across it. Not that Mildred minded; if anything, it took the pressure off her when it came to choosing a bed. She dropped the box onto the spring mattress, the contents jostling ever so slightly at the disruption. 

“Oh good, you’re here!” Mildred heard from behind her, whipping around to see a bright, blonde girl with pale blue eyes and thin lips. She was holding a succulent between her slender fingers, and a smile lifted her cheeks. She was distinctly pretty, in a jade green dress and penny loafers. Mildred found herself suddenly embarrassed of her simple skirt and brown cardigan.

“I’m Lenore - Lenore Osgood.” The girl greeted, sticking her hand out for Mildred to shake.

“Mildred Ratched.” She greeted, trying to match the levity of her new roomemate’s smile, but managing no more than a grimace.

Lenore took her hand and shook it jovially, a single finger pressing into the hollow of Mildred’s palm.

“Well, I guess we’re living together, then. I’ve never had a roommate before, being an only child and all. Oh, don’t worry, I’m terribly clean, and I don’t tend to make much noise. Well, I’ve been told that sometimes I talk in my sleep, but you can’t hardly hold that against me, being unconscious and all.” Mildred felt dizzy. Lenore looked past her, brow furrowing the pale skin of her forehead. “Is that all you’ve brought with you?”

Mildred swallowed. Her dark eyes glazed, and she nodded slowly. Lenore simply shrugged.

“Well, I was going to offer to help you unpack, but it doesn’t seem it’ll take you very long. Gosh, you should have seen my parent’s car; we could barely fit me in the back seat. Your parent’s must be awfully proud to have a daughter so sufficient at packing. Are they here?”

Mildred’s stomach twisted, and she exhaled too quickly. “Oh, um, no they … well … they’re just …”

“Gosh, you’re a nervous thing, aren’t you?” Lenore queried a smile.

“I …”

“Relax, Millie - can I call you that? - I’m only teasing you.” Lenore turned and began busying herself with breaking down boxes and putting the finishing touches on her bed. “Well, anyway, my parents went to the cafeteria to try and rustle up something edible. I’ve heard the food here isn’t too bad, although I bet it doesn’t hold a candle to a home cooked meal, don’t you think?”

Mildred swallowed and nodded. Gosh, could she talk. Mildred decided that she liked it - liked her. Lenore wasn’t mean-spirited or jaded, wasn’t timid or prim. Lenore was the opposite of Mildred in so many ways, and it swallowed her whole, made her feel normal. Yes, Mildred thought, they would get along rather nicely.

“Oh gosh, is that the time already?” Lenore pulled her from her thoughts, blue eyes bulging at her watch. She reached for Mildred’s hand: “c’mon, we’ll be late for orientation!”

Mildred followed the blonde in a daze, letting Lenore drag her through the door and down the hall. A crowd had already formed outside of other first years. Beyond them there was a line of women in white sweatshirts with BENINGTON printed across them in red collegiate letters.

“Alright, ladies, settle down!” One of them, a short girl with a northern accent and dark bangs clamored above the crowd. The chatter dissipated, leaving a nervous hum of energy and anticipation in its wake. “My name is Betsy Bucket, and I’m a junior. If I call your name, you’ll be breaking off with me. The rest of you will be split between the lovely women on either side of me.” She gestured swiftly to seven other girls.

Betsy began reading from a list; mispronouncing names with little regard as she went. By the end, she had a crew of about thirty girls, one of which was Lenore. Two more girls read off lists, and Mildred felt her heart plummet a little deeper into her stomach everytime her name was not chosen. And then the fourth girl: strawberry blonde with full cheeks, stalky and glowing against the collegiate background stepped forward. Feeling her tongue too large for her mouth suddenly, Mildred let the muscle dart across her upper lip.

“... Mildred Ratched!”

Mildred’s body lurched forward before her brain could react to what was happening. She found herself in the shadow of the girl, who nodded and smiled at her with deep azure eyes, and continued on with her list. Ten names later, she led them to the shade of a tree away from the crowd, and had them sit in a circle. Mildred found herself sandwiched between a bulky girl with thick glasses and a thicker lisp, and their orientation leader. Once seated, Mildred noticed that she smelled of lavender and oak, and she was the only one amongst them to wear pants. The sleeves of her sweatshirt were bunched, revealing the slender muscle of her forearms. She had strong, distinct hands, and Mildred could sense an heir of cockiness floating off of her. Mildred thought it suited her.

“Alright ladies, welcome.” Her voice was lighter than Mildred had expected - its cadence higher, like wind chimes. “My name is Gwendolyn Briggs. I’m a senior here at Bennington. My favorite color is red, and this summer I hiked the Appalachian Trail.” A murmur went through the circle. Gwendolyn nodded towards Mildred: “alright, now you.”

Mildred’s cheeks flushed. “Oh, um …” she cleared her throat, which was suddenly very dry indeed, “M-my name is Mildred Ratched. I’m .. well … a freshman.” A few snickers. “My favorite color … I’m not sure I have one. Green, maybe? This summer I …” Mildred panicked, her breathing rising into her chest and twisting painfully.  _ Think, Mildred, think! _ “I um … I worked at an ice cream parlor.”

The crowd mumbled a hello to her, but Mildred could hardly hear it over the roar of blood rushing through her ears. Her dark eyes flicked to Gwendolyn, and she found the girl looking at her as though she could see all the way through to her skeleton. Mildred’s neck burned under her gaze, and she averted her own back to her palms.

The rest of the circle rattled on - about twenty five girls in total listing a myriad of colors and summer activities. Gwendolyn seemed not to notice, for every time Mildred had a chance to glance up at her, she caught icy blue eyes on her flesh, and her stomach reeled all over. 

From that first circle, Mildred would fall further and further back into the crowd as Gwendolyn gestured to buildings, explained how cafeteria hours worked, and when the library was open, and when curfew was.

“Alright, that’s all for today. Meet me back at the commons tomorrow at 11 am sharp. Don’t forget my face!” Gwendolyn joked as she dismissed the gaggle of girls. “Mildred, a moment?”

Mildred practically tripped over her own legs in her rush to meet her. She loomed over Mildred in height, and Mildred found herself craning her neck to meet her eyes.

“I was warned about the … circumstances of how you came to Bennington.” Mildred’s breath caught.  _ No, no, no _ . This was it: the thing she had been dreading. This was the beginning and the end of her social life. It had to be. Mildred’s gaze cast down to her worn shoes, air neither entered nor left her lungs, and her head spun and then -

A gentle hand landed on her shoulder. Mildred flinched, but the hand persisted.

“I just wanted to offer my assistance however I can. I know how hard it can be to feel like an outsider. I’d like to be an ally to you, if you’ll let me.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Mildred’s gaze lifted once more. And Gwendolyn, for her part, smiled; a warm, honest thing. And then Mildred was smiling too.

“Thank you.” She breathed. 

Gwen just shrugged: “go on, then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Mildred turned on autopilot. She could feel the thrum of her pulse where Gwendolyn’s hand once was.

“Oh, and Mildred?” Mildred peeked over her shoulder. “It’s nice to meet you.” Gwendolyn winked.

Mildred’s lips parted slightly. She had half a mind to say something in response, but Gwendolyn was already sauntering off to a group of older girls, and what could she say anyhow? It’s nice to meet you, too? You hardly even know me? No, none of that would do. With her head down, she trudged back to her dorm.

Lenore wasted no time in purging the events of her day: what Betsy studied, the other girls she’d met, what she thought of campus. “It’s wonderful, don’t you think it’s wonderful?” She cheered, flopping onto her back in an exhausted flourish.

Mildred perched on the corner of her still unmade bed. She nodded (not that Lenore could see).

“Yes,” Mildred breathed, “wonderful.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day two of orientation is wrought with its own set of surprises.

Mildred woke with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed. Her hands were clenched around her threadbare blanket, palms sweaty and unstable as her fingers twisted into the cotton material. It was still dark out. Mildred wondered what time it was, but having no watch of her own, she could only guess. Judging by the pallor of the sky, she placed the time at just around five o’clock in the morning. Mildred heaved a sigh, releasing her blanket and falling back onto her pillow with a huff. Somewhere on the other side of the room, Lenore murmured something in her sleep and shifted her weight.

She should try and sleep a bit longer, Mildred thought, but the idea of closing her eyes again made her stomach twist in a most unnatural way. Mildred swung over the side of her bed, bare feet making contact with cool wooden floorboards. She liked the way the air smelled here; even within the dormitories, there was the distinct scent of must and history. The building seemed to be seeped in its past, and Mildred felt less alone for it.

From beneath her bed, Mildred retrieved an old shoe box. She ran her fingers over its corners, feeling the worn edges where the varnish had come apart from the paper. She took off the top, and was greeted by the familiar view of letters neatly stacked against one another. Mildred chose one at random, unfolding it at the center. Before she could bring herself to read the words scrawled across the tired paper in messy script, she brought it to her nose. Mildred inhaled, but she could not detect a particular scent. The relic seemed to have been enveloped by this new environment she found herself in: nothing existed or remained of the life she had once known. Nothing but the words, that is.

In the faint light of dawn, Mildred could only just make out the contents of the letter. She knew it practically by heart already, so what she could not see in the lowlight, she was able to piece together from memory. As was always the case, she stopped before the last paragraph, folding the paper in half and clutching it to her chest. Her eyes fluttered shut. A few tears slipped silently against her cheeks. Wind rustled through trees outside, and a single bird sang from somewhere she could not see, not that she bothered to search for it.

“ _ ‘M not going! _ ” Lenore mumbled through the thick of unconsciousness.

Mildred jumped and made haste in placing the letter back into its rightful space in the shoebox. She wiped away a few tears, brushing them off her cheeks and drying her hand against her sheets. She shook her head. This would not do, she thought. It simply wouldn’t. Mildred ran a single finger over the letters, revelling in the way they rustled faintly at the disturbance, before covering the box and placing it back under her bed.

***

“It’s a damn shame, that’s all I’m saying.” Betsy drawled, heaving a puff of smoke out the window with a flourish before passing the cigarette to Gwendolyn.

Gwendolyn rolled her eyes, replacing Betsy at the window and taking a hefty drag. They had developed this system when Betsy was a mere freshman and Gwendolyn a sophomore. They found that waking up early to smoke was far less conspicuous than staying up late. At five o’clock, no one thought to check on dormitories; more than likely, no one else was even awake.

“I mean really, Gwennie, what are they expecting her to  _ do _ here? She’s so …” Betsy trailed off, a hand flourishing absently in the air above her.

To keep herself from responding too quickly or too harshly, Gwendolyn held the smoke in her lungs until it burned, letting it go in a milky wisp and disappear out the window: “I think it’s rather nice of Bennington to take her in.”

“Well, of course  _ you _ do, Gwennie.” Betsy said pointedly, a single brow arching. “You’d think it kind of a lion to take in a lamb, were the opportunity presented to you.”

“You being the lion in this lovely little metaphor, I suppose?” Gwendolyn grunted, stifling the giggle that was lilting in her throat.

She passed the cigarette back to Betsy, who rolled it between her fingers for a moment. Gwendolyn noted the way her palms trembled as she fiddled with it. No, Betsy was not a lion, Gwendolyn thought; she rather reminded her of a yorkshire terrier, or some other small creature whose bark preceded its bite. And what’s more, a feral creature, whatever it might be.

“Laugh all you want, but I bet you she doesn’t last one month here before she’s sent packing. I’m telling you, Gwennie, that girl is trouble - with a capital ‘T’.” Betsy poked the cigarette towards her to punctuate the last letter.

“Oh come off it, Betsy.” Gwendolyn’s cheeks warmed, fluster rising in her chest at her friend’s persistence. It wouldn’t do, Gwendolyn thought. “She’s just a girl - if you can even call her  _ that _ . She’s so … well, she’s gentle, is all. I don’t think the dean would have accepted her without good reason.”

Betsy shook her head, bangs traipsing across her forehead: “Trouble, Gwennie. I’m telling you.”

“Have you even  _ spoken _ to her yet, Bets? Christ, have you ever  _ seen _ her?”

“No, have you?”

Gwendolyn nodded and inhaled: “I’ve done both, as it so happens.” She said with smoke still trapped against her larynx.

Betsy’s eyes bulged. “Gwendolyn Briggs you did  _ not _ ! Christ, how did you ever manage that?”

“She’s in my orientation group.” Gwendolyn exhaled finally.

“And you didn’t think to  _ share _ this information with me? Your best friend? Or does that title mean nothing to you anymore?”

Gwendolyn smirked, blue eyes glinting in the grey light of dawn. Yorkshire terrier might even be too great a title for Betsy, she thought. She was more like a mouse, or a squirrel; something which could not fend for itself - which depended on someone or something to both protect her and tell her of the world around her. A scavenger desperate for information which would nourish her insatiable hunger for  _ more _ , if only for a moment.

“I didn’t think it was that important, really.” Gwendolyn shrugged.

“Not important, she says,  _ not important! _ ” Betsy all but shrieked, dotting the ash of the cigarette onto the windowsill and leaving it there.

Gwendolyn watched the ember fizzle and die before shutting the window to ensure the scent would not permeate their room: “Who needs a rooster when we have you to signal the sunrise, Betsy Bucket?”

“Oh spare me your sharp wit. So? What was she like? Did she have a tail? Horns? A staff?”

“Why do I tell you anything? She’s a human being, Betsy.”

“She’s a goddamn  _ abomination _ , if you ask me.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you.” Gwendolyn jabbed back, brows arching. A hush fell between the two of them. Betsy bowed her head and picked at one of her fingernails. She folded her legs in front of her. Gwendolyn sighed by way of apology, then continued delicately: “She struck me as … normal. Well, no, that’s not quite right. She’s rather quiet - timid - and she seems to think she has more reason to fear me than I do her.”

Betsy perked up again at this new morsel of information. “What did you say her name was?”

“Mildred.” Gwendolyn’s lips pulled into a lopsided smile.

Betsy noticed. “Why, Gwennie, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were developing a crush.”

“You know I don’t kiss and tell.”

Betsy’s laugh was like thunder rumbling through some great city. It jolted electricity between them, buzzed and thickened as it bounced off the four corners of their dorm room. Gwendolyn liked it when she could make Betsy laugh, as it didn’t happen very often. She was more inclined to snort, or roll her eyes, than she was to submit to humor. Only this time, Betsy’s laugh struck her as dishonest, or perhaps more accurately, Gwendolyn had not intended it to be funny, and so she could not help the pang of hurt it instilled in her.

“Say, what time is it?” Gwendolyn inquired, wanting very much to change the subject all at once.

Betsy rolled up the sleeve of her sleepshirt and checked her watch: “Nearly seven. I should get going if I want any hot water left in my shower.”

Gwendolyn nodded and murmured an agreement. While Betsy rummaged through her closet for a robe, towel, and shower caddy, Gwendolyn peered out the window. Across campus she thought she could see a shadow of a figure which looked distinctly like Mildred. Gwendolyn blinked twice, willing the bleariness of nicotine to release her vision. When she looked up again, the silhouette was gone.

“Say, this Mildred girl, you don’t think that her business will follow her here, do you?” Betsy said from the doorframe.

Gwendolyn turned to meet her gaze and shrugged: “I don’t think she means any harm. She seems rather keen on forgetting the whole thing, if you ask me.”

Betsy considered this. She bobbed her head once, and closed the door after her. Outside, the sunrise bled into golden morning light. It painted campus in a warmth which Gwendolyn had come to love over her four years at Bennington. Gwendolyn opened the window and let her feet dangle over the sill. There was supposed to be a screen there, but she had learned how to remove it in her first year of university, and had dismantled it in every room since. It was beginning to grow cold - Gwendolyn could feel the nip of September biting at her ankles. It didn’t take much in Vermont; seasons turned rather quickly here, and Gwendolyn had come to enjoy the long winters and short springs. Autumn was always a particularly beautiful period, although it never seemed to last long enough. She liked the way color seemed to burst through campus - the way leaves fell and wavered on tree branches, and the air smelled of library books and coffee grounds.

Gwendolyn liked fresh starts - new beginnings. She had always been that way, ever since she was a child. Youth had been rather kind to her, and so to Gwendolyn, newness held a sort of excitement and enthrallment which she could not fully place, nor had she ever bothered to. She couldn’t help but wonder what beginnings might mean to Mildred? Were they thrilling, or merely a means to an end? Gwendolyn shook her head. What good was it, after all, to wonder so much of someone she had only hardly met?

She pulled a book off the table beside her bed and leaned a little further out the window. September wind trickled across her nose and fluttered the pages of her book - just now, she was reading  _ Remembrance of Things Lost _ by Marcel Proust (a translation, of course). She was about halfway through, and though the book had captured her fancy in only a few paragraphs, she found herself quite unable to focus on it today. She slammed it shut with a huff and flung it back onto her bed. It wouldn’t do, she thought for the second time that morning.

It simply wouldn’t.

Orientation was to begin at eight o’clock sharp. Gwendolyn knew it would take her no more than fifteen minutes to ready herself, for she had never been one for having a prolonged morning routine. No, washing her face and brushing her teeth would suffice. She was tethered to the orientation leaders’ uniforms of BENNINGTON sweatshirts and whatever she chose to wear on the bottom, and she could pull her hair into a low ponytail, or pin it near her ears to keep her curls from falling in front of her face. Betsy, on the other hand, took hours to ready herself: swiping mascard and painting her lips and creating some unique and ornate bun at the back of her head which showed off her ears and the length of her neck. Gwendolyn often teased her for this ritual, but Betsy paid her no mind, save for sticking out her tongue or flinging a comb in her direction when she was particularly disgruntled.

Being upperclassmen, and ones of pristine academic and behavioral records, both Gwendolyn and Betsy were allowed to use the coffee pot in the professor’s chamber. They did so jovially, sneaking a danish as they went. By the time they had finished their coffees and polished off the last of the pastries, a crowd of freshmen was already beginning to form outside.

Betsy nudged at Gwendolyn’s shoulder: “You’ll point her out to me, won’t you? I’d like to see what I’m up against.”

“What you’re up against?” Gwendolyn repeated with a slightly furrowed brow.

Betsy nodded: “You know, if war breaks out, I’d like to know who’s head I should be aiming for.”

Gwendolyn rolled her eyes. Betsy had had a flair for the dramatic ever since she’d known her. She had, in fact, starred in last year’s production of  _ Romeo and Juliet _ , and received great accolades for her portrayal of the titular role. Still, Gwendolyn promised to point Mildred out, and Betsy seemed satiated for the moment.

When eight o’clock struck, the leaders broke off with their groups. Betsy made sure to stay close enough to Gwendolyn so as not to miss her indication of Mildred. Gwendolyn, for her part, managed to point towards the back of a rather scrawny, and all too unassuming girl in a plain grey dress and worn out loafers. Her red hair was cropped just below her chin, and her hands were clasped in front of her. At the plainness of her new foe, Betsy’s excitement waned, and she split off to fulfill her duties.

“Today will be used mostly to answer any remaining questions you might have. Bennington is a small community, and you’ll find your time here to be academically strenuous, as well as invigorating.” Gwendolyn explained as she led her cohort to a quiet section of the academic commons.

Some of the girls had brought notebooks and pens with them today, and were scrawling furiously. Mildred had not. She hung towards the middle of the group, clustered between girls who were chattering excitedly and not listening a wit. Mildred remained quiet, eyes focused on Gwendolyn; until she made eye contact with her, that is, at which point her deep brown gaze averted to the ground in front of her.

Gwendolyn’s lips pulled upwards: “Does anyone have any questions?”

A few girls raised their hands. Gwendolyn called on a heavyset girl with dark curls and darker eyes: “Are there ever any dances, or weekend activities?”

“There’s a winter formal with some of the surrounding universities - both men and women are in attendance. There’s also a spring social, and a few other events which happen throughout the year. Yes, you in the back?”

“How hard is it to receive straight A’s?”

“I suppose that depends on your course load and your work ethic. I’ve never seemed to have any trouble with it. You?”

“Is it true that there’s a murderer in this year’s class?”

A hush fell over the crowd. Gwendolyn practically tripped over herself. Mildred’s cheeks flared crimson. Gwendolyn whipped around to meet the auditor of the question: a rather tall, and all too mature looking woman with spectacles and a wicker hat.

“You don’t look like a student.” Gwendolyn responded, careful not to make any indication towards Mildred.

“I’m not. Melinda Blair of  _ The Bennington Banner _ . I have it on good authority that the daughter of a notorious crime family and bootlegger has come to Bennington College, although no one seems to know  _ which _ family she might belong to, nor is there any record available to the public. Has the student body been made aware of this?”

Gwendolyn’s hands fisted at either side of her, nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms. She could feel the color rising on her cheek, could feel the swell of her tongue against her soft palate. She considered warning herself to take a breath before she responded, but by the time the notion entered her mind, it was too late.

“Not that it’s any of your business Miss Bore -”

“It’s Blair.”

“But Bennington is a prestigious institution who only accepts the most well rounded young women. There is no requisite in our application which states that you must come from pristine social circles to be any of those things. Now, whoever this girl may be, if she even  _ exists _ , I hope she finds a place here that is free of preconception, and which allows her to grow into the young woman that  _ she _ chooses to be; not the one which people such as yourself feel the need to label her as.”

“Well don’t you think -”

“I have an orientation to lead, Miss Blair. If you want to talk to someone, I suggest you hunt down a mafioso, and leave the women of Bennington well enough alone. Good day.”

With that, Gwendolyn spun on her heels and stormed off. The girls followed behind her in a flurry of hushed murmurs and giggles. Melinda Blair stood with a pen to her notepad, and a blank expression on her dull face.

The rest of the day ensued without much consequence. Girls asked questions, some about the reporter’s piece of gossip. Gwendolyn refused to respond, assuring them that there was nothing to know, and even if there was, she would not be privy to such knowledge. It was a lie, of course, one which only herself and one other was aware of. The day ended at twelve thirty, and the girls were instructed to take the rest of their Sunday’s to prepare for the first day of instruction tomorrow. Gwendolyn dismissed them, but noted that one girl stayed behind.

Not just any girl: Mildred Ratched stood slightly pigeon-toed and all too wistful mere inches away from her. Gwendolyn sighed and took a step closer to her.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that, Mildred.” She intoned lightly. She thought she might reach a hand out and touch the girl, but decided better of it, remembering the way Mildred had flinched the day before.

Mildred shook her head: “I … thank you. For what you said. I don’t … I …” She inhaled a sharp breath and chanced meeting Gwendolyn’s ocean blue gaze. “I don’t mean any trouble. I don’t … I don’t want to cause any disruption. I’d very much like to remain unknown, if at all possible.”

“I thought as much.” Gwendolyn smiled.

“You didn’t have to do that.”   
“Do what?”

“Defend me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Gwendolyn winked. Mildred smiled. “There’s going to be a small gathering after the first day of classes: a reading of poetry with a few upperclassmen and some professors in the library. You’re welcome to join if you’d like.” At the panic this invitation struck in Mildred’s eyes, Gwendolyn covered: “You may bring someone if you’d like, your roommate perhaps, so you don’t feel so alone.”

Mildred had half a mind to say that wherever Gwendolyn was, she would never feel alone. She nodded instead, murmured her thanks, and that was that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKKKAAAY kiddos! How are we feeling?! Off to a good start? I can’t promise every chapter will be updated this quickly, but inspiration struck, and I simply couldn’t help myself! Leave a little love note in the comments, or a hate note if you feel so inclined, and I’ll see you again real soon!


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